“Be still.” The enchantress whispered into Greg’s ear.
Greg obeyed, not because he wanted to, but because of the spell she had placed on him. He felt every muscle in his body lock into position, screaming from the tension. His heart raced in his chest, beating wildly as though trying to escape the prison that was his body.
He was very near hyperventilating as he watched her glide back to her table across the room. Even through the smell of earth surrounding them he could still smell her. Sweet and spicy, vanilla and cinnamon. That’s what it was. Each breath he took pulled more of her scent into his nose, fogging his mind for a second.
“Don’t worry,” Her soft voice said without turning around, “you’re my favorite. I am not going to hurt you more than necessary.”
He could barely process her words now, between the magic in the air and the panic in the deepest parts of his mind. He watched her pick up a small vial and turn to face him.
“I have to admit,” she said as she returned to him, “you’re stronger than I could have imagined. Most of my pets aren’t able to function by this point. They hang there limp and transfixed, but not you. You have a fire in you that won’t go out! I love it! I must have it.”
She removed the stopper from the vial, releasing the acrid smell of whatever it contained. Greg watched in horror as the liquid inside took shape and crawled out onto her hand.
“Make him mine,” she whispered to it before moving her hand and caressing the side of his face. It crawled from her skin to his and found his nose, pushing its way inside him, burning like the sun as it moved.